


healing ;

by gryffindored



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Love, My poor babies, Passion, Sad, honestly it's just emotional, so there's that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 00:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15674556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindored/pseuds/gryffindored
Summary: Set in a post-/KoA world in which Rowan and Aelin must remind themselves they're both healing. Quick little one-shot based on a prompt, "Rowaelin Reunion."





	healing ;

Rowan woke in a sweat, skin hot and cold at the same time. It took too long to calm his heart down, his chest rising and falling with alarming frequency as adrenaline raced through his veins. The first thing he did, always, when the nightmares roused him like this was reach for the sleeping body beside him.

It didn’t always feel real, having her back. The loss of her all those months had taken its toll on both of them —  _all_  of them — and he still wasn’t accustomed to the promise of peace that they all fought so hard for. It was easier in daylight, easier to focus on the various tasks at hands or otherwise fuss over his wife. Once night fell, however, Rowan struggled to keep his brain at bay. Images were constantly flashing through his mind: a bloody shirt on a beach and the imagined pictures his mind conjured against his will at what she endured to leave so much red in her wake; an empty bed, empty life; the shell of a girl that he came upon when he found her, finally found her.

Aelin was healing. He had to remind himself of that fact.

Her skin had regained color by now, no longer the pallid figure more ghost than girl. She was still too thin, her body almost unwilling to replenish itself to the health it used to hold. There was spark in her eyes most days, and her golden hair was resplendent once more. But Rowan knew it haunted her still, saw it in flicker of her face when she thought no one was watching. He heard it in the heavy silences that fell over her every now and again. He felt it in the desperation of her passion when they made love.

She was healing, and so was he.

Rowan’s arms wound tight around her and she responded in kind, rousing from her own shaky sleep. She kept her back against his chest and he knew she could feel the panic in his heartbeat because a soft, small hand reached behind her to find his face in the dark. He caught her palm with a kiss before dipping his head down to the nape of her neck. Rowan breathed her in deeply — lavender, jasmine, hints of ember. One, two, three deep breaths to help in grounding himself to the reality. To her.

“You’re here,” he mumbled, mouth against the bit of spine between her shoulder blades. His lips murmured against one of the tattoos he’d laid over her scars. Some were faded, some were fresh. All of them broke his heart. He repeated the words like a reverent prayer, shifting his body over hers.

There was nothing but intimacy in the act, nothing sexual. Sometimes the nightmares spurned them into wild bouts of passion, all teeth and tongues and shared sweat. Other times - and they were always able to read one another’s needs with ease - their space became a sanctuary. He touched her body as if it were sacred, worshipping the skin with his palms. A hand settled against her ribcage, fingers brushing small circles; the other found hers, twining their fingers together with slight desperation. She squeezed back, a small sound coming from the back of her throat.

A sob.

It cut at his heart, painting pain into the very depths of his being.  _Never again_ , he’d promised her. Rowan would go to the depths of hell and farther to keep her safe, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind about that. But how was he to save them from themselves? The cuts that ran beneath skin, the thoughts that wandered no matter how many wards they put up in their minds.

Aelin’s shoulders shook with silent cries and Rowan lowered his body over hers, shielding her. She was so small and lithe — but not breakable, he knew. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, his chest pressed against the length of her back. She let out a shaky breath, one that he mirrored.

It was only when Aelin fell asleep again that his heartbeat finally slowed, matching her own that reverberated against him with the steady rhythm of slumber. He didn’t move, didn’t disentangle their bodies. His hand drifted up by her face, brushing back stray strands of gold and his eyes caught on the glint of his ring. Their promise. Their marriage.

Rowan clung to his wife as sleep took him once again and his mind went thankfully silent.


End file.
